lifted an eyebrow, "And I told you no."
It was official: the man was crazy. "Aug, maybe you haven't been listening but the gala is tonight. As in six hours from now. And it's not okay for you to go in jeans!"
"Relax," August said, hanging the tux in the closet and refolding the rejected black t-shirt. "I've got it handled."
"How?"
"Never mind." Even from the distance Doren could see August's brow knitted in annoyance. "This might surprise you, chief, but I'm a big boy. I've been taking care of myself for some time." He shut the door to the closet and turned to stare coldly at Doren. "That includes dressing myself."
Doren's own eyebrow lifted in parody of August's expression. "Oh, really? You can take care of yourself, can you?" He rose from the couch and grinned. "Are you sure about that?"
"Don't even start." It wasn't a suggestion, nor was it a question. August's voice made it very clear he wasn't in the mood to play. As if, Doren chuckled to himself, that was going to make a difference. He got within a few feet of August and lunged—to which August responded by casually stepping to the side and turning away. Doren missed him completely.
"I said quit it. We don't have time for games."
"Begging won't save you now," Doren grinned, spinning dramatically and pulling a whole new display of eye rolling from August.
"That was not begging."
"Not yet," Doren agreed, and without warning he charged August, wrapping his arms around August's waist, dragging August the fourteen steps required to topple August on to the bed. He scrambled over top, grinning at the "Oof" and pinning August's arms to the mattress. "Feel free to beg all you want now, though."
"Fuck off, Doren," August warned. "You promised no bullshit, remember?"
Doren watched August's eyes but it wasn't the flare of interest that lit behind them that convinced Doren to stay where he was. It was the lyrical cadence that rushed into August's breath. It was the bass that picked up its beat in August's chest. He lowered his face, not even a hair's breadth of space between them. When he spoke he felt his own air come back at him from off of August's skin. "But that was in your room. Now we're in mine."
"It doesn't work like that—" August said. But the moment August spoke, their lips brushed against one another and with a soft growl Doren made it official. Just a quick kiss was all he was going for—a tease, a game—until August opened his mouth. Until his own tongue slipped between the parted heat of August's lips and was neither pushed away or spat out. Doren didn't wait for further direction. His hands slid off August's wrist, down August's arms, and he reached around August's waist. If August was going to let him kiss, maybe August would let him touch, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take full advantage of that. With his arms tight, he pulled August into a roll, until he was flat on his back and August on top of him.
"There," Doren removed his lips enough to mumble against August's mouth. "I'm not making you do anything. You're the one on top of me. Move away if you need to. Stop me." He ran his hands over shoulders, back, across August's ass, pulling them tighter against one another. August choked on a sound. "Or don't," Doren whispered.
Kisses. Pressure. Friction. August's slacks moved easily against Doren's denim. His ass cheeks fit perfectly in Doren's palms. Doren never released the hold, rocking underneath August, dragging their bodies together, sending shivers up August's back that he could feel. August's eyes had never looked so bright, his cheeks never so flushed. Doren had no clue how far August would let him go; all he knew was that if August decided to walk away again, he planned on leaving August as frustrated as he knew he would be. He didn't break for any more than breath between their kisses, didn't give August time to think, and as the rush began to beat through him, August began to rock into the motion as well. He made no move to
It was official: the man was crazy. "Aug, maybe you haven't been listening but the gala is tonight. As in six hours from now. And it's not okay for you to go in jeans!"
"Relax," August said, hanging the tux in the closet and refolding the rejected black t-shirt. "I've got it handled."
"How?"
"Never mind." Even from the distance Doren could see August's brow knitted in annoyance. "This might surprise you, chief, but I'm a big boy. I've been taking care of myself for some time." He shut the door to the closet and turned to stare coldly at Doren. "That includes dressing myself."
Doren's own eyebrow lifted in parody of August's expression. "Oh, really? You can take care of yourself, can you?" He rose from the couch and grinned. "Are you sure about that?"
"Don't even start." It wasn't a suggestion, nor was it a question. August's voice made it very clear he wasn't in the mood to play. As if, Doren chuckled to himself, that was going to make a difference. He got within a few feet of August and lunged—to which August responded by casually stepping to the side and turning away. Doren missed him completely.
"I said quit it. We don't have time for games."
"Begging won't save you now," Doren grinned, spinning dramatically and pulling a whole new display of eye rolling from August.
"That was not begging."
"Not yet," Doren agreed, and without warning he charged August, wrapping his arms around August's waist, dragging August the fourteen steps required to topple August on to the bed. He scrambled over top, grinning at the "Oof" and pinning August's arms to the mattress. "Feel free to beg all you want now, though."
"Fuck off, Doren," August warned. "You promised no bullshit, remember?"
Doren watched August's eyes but it wasn't the flare of interest that lit behind them that convinced Doren to stay where he was. It was the lyrical cadence that rushed into August's breath. It was the bass that picked up its beat in August's chest. He lowered his face, not even a hair's breadth of space between them. When he spoke he felt his own air come back at him from off of August's skin. "But that was in your room. Now we're in mine."
"It doesn't work like that—" August said. But the moment August spoke, their lips brushed against one another and with a soft growl Doren made it official. Just a quick kiss was all he was going for—a tease, a game—until August opened his mouth. Until his own tongue slipped between the parted heat of August's lips and was neither pushed away or spat out. Doren didn't wait for further direction. His hands slid off August's wrist, down August's arms, and he reached around August's waist. If August was going to let him kiss, maybe August would let him touch, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take full advantage of that. With his arms tight, he pulled August into a roll, until he was flat on his back and August on top of him.
"There," Doren removed his lips enough to mumble against August's mouth. "I'm not making you do anything. You're the one on top of me. Move away if you need to. Stop me." He ran his hands over shoulders, back, across August's ass, pulling them tighter against one another. August choked on a sound. "Or don't," Doren whispered.
Kisses. Pressure. Friction. August's slacks moved easily against Doren's denim. His ass cheeks fit perfectly in Doren's palms. Doren never released the hold, rocking underneath August, dragging their bodies together, sending shivers up August's back that he could feel. August's eyes had never looked so bright, his cheeks never so flushed. Doren had no clue how far August would let him go; all he knew was that if August decided to walk away again, he planned on leaving August as frustrated as he knew he would be. He didn't break for any more than breath between their kisses, didn't give August time to think, and as the rush began to beat through him, August began to rock into the motion as well. He made no move to
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